If Only To Fly
by Sarinati
Summary: All she wanted was to have wings. She only wanted to fly. That was her dream...and now it is achieved. Oneshot, partly Leroux based and partly ALW based.


**A/N: This is just a one-shot. It is a mix between ALW and Leroux, so hopefully it'll make sense to you. This is my first Phantom one-shot…it had to be done eventually, eh? This story is dedicated to my friend, Yvonne, because she's always been so inspiring for my writing and my art, and she's just been…well…inspiring.**

**Thanks Yvonne!**

**I don't own Phantom of the Opera.**

**Courtney**

* * *

_Paris, France_

_3 weeks after the one and only performance of Don Juan Triumphant._

_**Erik is dead.**_

The heading in the _Epoque_ flaunted itself in her face. Her knuckles whitened as she clenched the paper. The advertisement was in bold letters, as if they wanted her to see it. As if they wanted her to feel worse than she possibly could. As if they wanted to bring her down lower, so that she was like a mere scrap of dirt on the bottom of a traveler's shoe.

Christine Daaé's bright blue eyes swam with tears; her body shook as the newspaper slipped out of her hands and onto the floor at her feet. _Erik was dead_. He was gone. She couldn't bring him back.

_She couldn't bring him back._

Gasping for air as if she was drowning, she got up and threw the paper in the fire. She watched the heading blacken and shrivel in the hot embers. She watched until the entire paper was nothing but an ash amongst the flames, lost forever.

She stumbled out onto her porch, as if in a trance. She gazed up at the sky; white clouds hung there, with a vibrant sun dazzling its onlookers. The effect was peaceful, calming. Out in the open air, she mourned freely for him. She knew that Raoul would see the headline soon. He would ban her from speaking of it, from mentioning him. She would keep up the façade she had been putting up ever since she left him after Don Juan Triumphant. Inside, though, she would be bleeding. Sure, she had felt guilty when she had left him. Guilt beyond anyone's wildest dreams, but now the guilt overpowered her. He had died from a broken heart. The paper had said it was from old age. Yet, Erik was not old when he died.

Christine was sure he died for her. He died trying to win her love.

And now she wanted to die too, to purge the awful feeling from her body that was swelling inside of her. The feeling was like cancer; it would slowly consume her and bring her down into death.

Somewhere in her mind, she heard her father's violin playing a sad tune. At first it was a solo violin, but eventually more joined in, to create a heartbreaking melody that tore through the soul and allowed Christine to cry harder. This time, she was mourning for the loss of two of her loves…her father and Erik. No matter what Erik thought, she did love him. Not in the way she loved Raoul, though. Her love for Raoul was something…very different, like something out of a fairy-tale. Christine loved Erik because of his music. Although, now that he was dead, she realized that love was something even deeper than what she had with Raoul.

Deep inside her, she knew she had made the wrong choice.

Her clear blue eyes turned to the sky, still shining in its glory. She wished she could fly among the clouds, to be able to soar. To have the feeling of her spirit lifting up once again, like it did in her first performance in Hannibal. She had felt so alive and vibrant then, and now it felt like a lifetime ago. She felt dead on the inside.

Longing for the open air, she decided that the only thing that would make her happy again was to be able to fly.

Closing her blue eyes shut and stopping the flow of tears, she leaned back against the railing and dreamt of flying. In her mind's eye, it was wonderful. To be able to see for miles and to feel the steady beat of wings on her back was exhilarating.

All that Mademoiselle Christine Daaé wanted was wings.

Smiling she stood up, carefully keeping her eyes closed. She didn't want to lose the fantasy, not yet. It was too beautiful.

Slowly, she felt the floor slip out from beneath her. She flung her hands out, trying to grasp something. Her eyes snapped open, only to see the ground rushing up to greet her.

Christine's blonde curls were stained red with blood. The last thing she saw before her world went black was the sun gently kissing an eagle, sitting where she once stood. The bird preened, and then gazed sharply down at her. It flared its wings, making it look three times bigger. The magnificent creature shrieked once, and flew off into the distance.

Christine slowly gazed after it. She wished she could soar like an eagle. She realized her hand was shaking. She drew in a shuddering breath, and let it out.

And that was how Christine Daaé, fiancée of Raoul de Chagny, and the Opera Ghost's Angel of Music, died.

* * *

She had no clue where she was. She knew she was still in her backyard, where her last memory was. She remembered an eagle…

She walked towards the balcony, where she remembered it sat. On the way there, she stumbled over something solid.

It was her body.

Crying out, she ran back and fell on the ground. If her body was there…then what was she…?

In the distance, she heard the lone eagle cry out. She turned around to look for it, but something white was in her way.

_Wings_.

She was dead. She had died in the fall. She had fallen off her balcony as she dreamed of wings. And now her dream had come true. She had to sacrifice her life to achieve her dream.

It wasn't that bad, she decided. She no longer felt the horrible guilt she had felt before. Her father's violin playing was louder than ever, but now…there was someone singing too. Her father and Erik were doing a duet. They were waiting for her.

Glancing one more time at her broken body, blood staining her clothes and covering her face and hair, she turned towards the sun. High above, she saw the eagle circling. She jumped up and flew towards it.

When she reached the bird, the ground was far below her. The eagle looked at her and headed in one direction. The direction the music was coming from.

Glancing down at her old home, she saw Raoul by her body. She felt the urge to go down to him, to try and comfort him, but she knew it would not work. He was alive, she was dead.

_Besides_, she thought. _My father and Erik are waiting._

So she followed the eagle into the sun, and she finally got what she had wanted her entire life.

She had only wanted to fly.

* * *

**A/N: So…hmm…I hope you liked it, review and tell me what you think.**


End file.
